


Crickets

by Siriusstuff



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A little bit cracky, Alternate Universe, Camping, Crickets, Developing Relationship, Ficlet, First Meetings, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Prompt Fill, References to Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-14 05:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14763089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siriusstuff/pseuds/Siriusstuff
Summary: Stiles and Derek meet in the Preserve, or, the best part of a bad camp-out is its interruption. With lots of crickets.





	Crickets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [novemberhush](https://archiveofourown.org/users/novemberhush/gifts).



> Ficlet for prompt no. 51. "crickets," from this list: https://jennoasis.tumblr.com/post/173550179036/drabble-prompts-hello-all-i-really-want-to-do 
> 
> as requested by @novemberhush.
> 
> The original intention was a drabble, but I ran with it.

The thin material of their cheap tent did, of course, nothing at all to muffle the sound of crickets chirping on that midsummer night.

“I didn’t know there were crickets in the woods,” Scott whispered from his sleeping bag next to Stiles.

“Why are you whispering?” Stiles asked.

“Why?—I—I don’t know! Because it’s night!”

Scott’s lightweight sleeping bag crinkled noisily as he rolled to face Stiles, visible only because they lay so close to each other.

“Did you know there were crickets in the woods?”

“Yes, Scott. I knew there were crickets in the woods. I just didn’t know there were hundreds of billions of crickets in the woods, and that every single one would be right outside our tent.”

“They’re really loud.”

“I noticed.—I’m putting my ear buds in, gonna try falling asleep to some tunes.”

“Don’t do that!” Scott warned. “We need to save our batteries in case we get lost!”

“Scott, we are literally five miles from downtown Beacon Hills.”

Stiles was camping out in the Preserve only because Scott wanted to practice before sleep-away camp started in August, when he’d begin his duties as a junior counselor. Stiles could think of much more interesting ways to die of boredom than keeping pre-teens from getting eaten by bears in the mountains. He might get lonely without Scott for three weeks, but lonely was better than bored.

Of course Scott wasn’t getting practice even at sleeping outdoors, because they weren’t sleeping, because of the crickets.

Worse, campfires were illegal in the Preserve, so Stiles hadn’t even gotten s’mores out of this pointless adventure.

The sacrifices he made in the name of friendship!

“I still think we shouldn’t—” Scott began to say just as the incessant chirping suddenly diminished.

They held their breaths while the silence spread.

“Stiles!” Scott gasped, “I think there’s something out there!”

They heard the inevitable twig snap.

Something was definitely out there.

Starting to wheeze, Scott confessed, “Stiles, I don’t wanna die without telling you… _I_ ate your Twinkies that time in second grade… and then I blamed Lydia because I knew you liked her and you wouldn’t get mad at her.”

“I knew it was you, Scott,” Stiles replied, handing Scott the emergency inhaler he was never without. “You still had cream filling on your face when you ratted out Lydia.”

“Do you forgive me?” Scott begged, still frantic as footsteps drew closer.

“Of course I do, buddy.”

“What are you doing here? This is private property,” came a voice Stiles had never heard before, a nice voice in spite of what it spoke. “You have to leave.”

Stiles was not one to be bullied by disembodied voices, even nice ones.

“Uh, sorry, man, this is _public_ property,” he answered back, “property of Beacon County.”

“You’re five hundred feet from my house. This is _Hale_ property,” the voice said without a waver in tone.

_Hale?_ Stiles knew that name. There was a framed eight by ten photo in the trophy case at the high school, of one Derek Hale, highest scorer in the history of Beacon Hills High basketball.

The photo caught Derek Hale mid-jump, about to sink a basket. His face was distorted by exertion but that didn’t obscure how handsome he was, anymore than the smiling doofus he appeared in his yearbook photo beside the basketball photo did.

Since the onset of puberty Stiles had been cultivating an eye for handsome guys.

Scott remained cowering in his sleeping bag, still not convinced, despite hearing a human voice, no carnivorous beast lurked outside their tent.

“Dude,” Stiles addressed him, “it’s Derek Hale. He’s only a few years older than us.”

“We should get outta here!”

“Wait. Just—wait here.”

Stiles grabbed the flashlight and unzipped the tent flap, to face the night-visitor.

His flashlight was a regulation one for the Beacon Hills Sheriff Department. Stiles pointed its big, bright beam to the ground and in the reflection saw that the few years since Derek Hale graduated had only refined his good looks.

Those fine features swayed Stiles to opt for a little diplomacy instead of his usual instant combativeness. “My friend starts work as a camp counselor next week,” he began, “and wanted some experience in the wilderness.”

“My family _lives_ here!” Derek protested, defending the modern suburban if somewhat rustic civility of his family. They weren’t pioneers on the untamed frontier—although the vigor of his defense had dropped off significantly since first discovering campers trespassing on the property. The guy from inside the tent was _cute_ , and it wasn’t like fate brought cute guys to Derek’s door—or at least into the vicinity of his door—every day, or, in this case, night.

Now in his senior year Stiles’s teachers routinely used the word “audacity” as the descriptor for his attitude. His dad frequently commented unfavorably on Stiles’s “balls,” in the figurative sense of course.

Stiles was bold, no question. The prospect of three weeks without his bestie suddenly looked potentially less lonely than he’d speculated, now that he was looking at Derek Hale, who was only a few years older, hadn’t come through the trees screaming for them to get out but had asked rather politely, considering the circumstances.

Despite his past athletic fame Derek wasn’t some testosterone-saturated hot head. He seemed to have just the right amount of testosterone, in Stiles’s opinion.

“Listen, dude,” Stiles continued, “can we talk?”

Derek had no intention of sending this guy away, but had one condition.

“As long as you don’t call me ‘dude’ again,” he said.

“Fine. No ‘dude.’ But listen, you know why _I’m_ out here in the dark. What about you?”

Derek paused before telling Stiles, “I like to walk at night.”

“Interesting,” Stiles replied. “I like to eat at night. I mean, du— Derek, I am hungry _right now_. As in starving. My friend—his name’s Scott, by the way—he’s not really one for planning, which I should know. I was counting on s’mores for dinner. Instead I’ve had no food for hours. My Jeep’s not far. What do you say we go somewhere to eat…?”

As they walked toward the road, still far away, Derek interrupted the flood of words pouring from the very attractive lips of this person whose name he needed to find out asap. “What about your friend?”

“Oh,” Stiles answered, “What better drill at survival in the wilderness than getting left in the woods?—Besides, he could walk home from here.”

Scott heard Stiles’s voice fade away. He even fell asleep long enough for the cricket chorus to have resumed at full volume, which woke him. Noting Stiles’s absence he stuck his head out of the tent.

There was no sign of Stiles, who was happily stuffing his face with curly fries and slurping a milkshake in a diner while he and Derek chatted, each wondering when might be the right moment to make a move.

In the dark of the Preserve, “Stiles?” Scott called, barely audible above the resounding chirps of crickets. “Stiles? … Are you doing this because of the s’mores?”


End file.
